


Magnitude

by plinys



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Mission, Texts From Last Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 23:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3547544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In general, as far as he’s concerned there aren’t any downsides to this relationship.</p><p>Whoever is in charge of furnishing these safe houses would probably disagree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magnitude

**Author's Note:**

> Exists in a future au in which everything is awesome and not this weird angst that we have for a current show plot. 
> 
> Also for the TFLN fic challenge. My prompt was:  
> “(828): so after the bed broke we walked out of the room to a standing ovation”

There are a great number of advantages to dating a superhero (or inhuman technically, but as far as he was concerned she was a superhero).

The list included (but is not limited to) her specular recovery time, the fact that his girlfriend could literally come in and swoop him off to safety if need be (not that he ever needed saving or anything), and the added bonus of _literally_ rocking his world every night.

In general, as far as he’s concerned there aren’t any downsides to this relationship.

Whoever is in charge of furnishing these safe houses would probably disagree.

Though really if things end up slightly more broke than they were when the two of them showed up at the safe house, well couldn’t they write that out as being a hazard of the whole spy business?

There’s a groan above him, a very different type of groan than the one that had been slipping from her lips mere minutes before, signally the fact that Skye had gotten down from her post-se high quicker than him.

He opened his eyes just in time to watch as she rolled over onto the other side of the bed.

It really was a lovely view.

They’re both quiet for a moment, nothing but the sound of some slightly labored breathing breaking the silence, before Skye asks, “the bed wasn’t this close to the ground when we started was it,” even though they both already know the answer.

He grimace, as he remembers that had been a vague cracking noise that had sounded right as she came and  he was pretty sure it was accompanied by the sound of a picture frame had falling off the walls, but they had both been too caught up in the moment for it to really register as anything important.

“If it makes any difference, love, I think it’s really hot that you broke the bed,” Lance tells her with a smirk, before tacking on the completely necessary, “ _again_.”

“You think everything I do is hot,” she protests, hitting him lightly in the chest. Though she’s not exactly objecting or disagreeing, so he’s counting this as a general success.

“It’s your fault, looking distracting in that tiny dress all night, I couldn’t help myself-“

“Fuck.”

“We already did that,” he smirks.

She doesn’t seem to find his comment nearly as funny as he does.

A real pity, since that means that instead of getting a round two, he now just gets to watch reluctantly as Skye sits up off the bed, stealing the sheet as she moves over to grab her tablet.   

“Skye come back to our broken bed-“

He falls silent quickly though as she presses a button on the tablet, and gone her post-orgasm voice, replaced instead by what he has fondly dubbed as her _Agent Skye_ voice.

“Mission Report, sir, we successfully extracted the targeted information and made in safely back to the safe house and ready for extraction.

It’s only as she says the words that he remembers how they might have forgotten to check in once they got back. In his defense, she had thrown herself at him first, and there was something about fancy dress missions, that had a tendency to lead from one thing to _another_.

Mentally he braces himself for Coulson’s annoyed voice, and the probably future lecture about the variety of protocols that they’re breaking (a lecture which _shockingly enough_ Lance has now heard a total of seven times).

Instead the only sound over the feed for a moment is a very slow clap, that he would recognize anywhere.

“Out of curiosity, mate, what was the magnitude?”

“4.1,” the voice over the line reads off factually.

“New record,” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows in Skye’s direction when she whips around to give him a playful glare.

Though her glare breaks slightly into a hint of a smile when she corrects, “we hit 4.4 in Taiwan last month.”

Ah yes, that had been a good night.

“Seems like second round is in order, yeah?”

“Is that what it seems like,” Skye asks coyly.

“That’s not fair, love, you know what that tone does to me.”

“I’m sure I could find a way to make it up to you.”

“That right?”

“I could-“

“Please don’t,” Fitz’s voice stammers over the line, because apparently he’s still there, “I mean, If you guys could uh, could not do that, that’d be great.”

“I’ll hang up first, don’t worry,” Skye reassures him, already moving to press the end call button on the tablet

Before she presses it though, Fitz jumps in, “your extraction is waiting outside.”

“That came bloody fast.”

“Sounds like somebody else I know,” Skye quickly replies.

“Was that really necessary?”

His ego is only _slightly_ wounded by the shrug of her shoulders that he gets in reply.

“They came- showed up,” Fitz corrects, “when the earthquake happened – we figured – I mean, you two normally-“

“Right well, be a mate, and give us ten to find our pants?”

“Sure- yeah – yes,” Fitz finally says, and then the line is dropped.

There’s a moment of silence, where Skye sets the tablet back down into its bag and Lance makes half-arsed attempt at finding where his pants had gotten to – even though he’s willing to bet money that they’re under the broken bed – before Skye finally says, “you’re the worst,” in a way that is clearly fond.

“You love me.”

“Don’t be gross,” she replies, but she’s smiling as she says the words, so he knows what she really means.

“You know it doesn’t take ten minutes for us to get dressed,” he says, barely even bothering to beat around the bush.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I’m pretty sure I was the one to suggest it so-“

Finishing that sentence doesn’t seem important in the slightest when she’s back on him again.

They don’t end up breaking their record, but it’s damn near close.

And as far as he’s concerned that’s all that really matters.

 


End file.
